Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3103829.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Marcus_Flint/Draco_Malfoy
  Character:
      Marcus_Flint, Draco_Malfoy
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-03 Words: 1526
****** Staying On The Team ******
by iamisaac
Summary
     Draco has failed to catch the Snitch in a Quidditch game against
     Gryffindor (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets). Marcus and the
     team are Not Happy. Chan, dub-con.
Harry Potter: Flint/Draco
Marcus Flint/Draco Malfoy
NC17
Draco has failed to catch the Snitch in a Quidditch game against Gryffindor
(Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets). Marcus and the team are Not Happy.
Chan, dub-con.
“Close the door behind you.”
Draco obeyed. He had hoped that he’d heard everything he was going to hear
about his miserable failure in the Quidditch. Then had come this summons. To
Marcus Flint, who sat alone on the side of his bed, an unforgiving expression
in his eyes.
“The rest of the team want you thrown off now,” Marcus said coldly. “They seem
to think that not noticing the Snitch when it’s a foot away from your eyes is
unforgiveable. Me?” He smiled at Draco, and Draco felt more uncomfortable than
he had done when Marcus had been looking angry. “I’m more forgiving. Maybe.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Draco.
“Oh good.” Marcus looked wryly amused. “Because you’re going to have to show me
just how sorry you are, Little Miss Malfoy.”
Draco hated the nickname that the rest of the Quidditch team had given him. He
was the youngest by quite some way, and the smallest, in a House where might,
quite often, meant right. His father might have been able to buy him a place on
the team, but he couldn’t buy him respect. In Slytherin, you got what your
fellows decided you deserved, and you accepted it. He put up with the sarcasm
of the team because even being on the team gave him a standing that no other
Slytherin second-year had. And Draco wanted to keep that, no matter what.
“I will, Flint.”
“Good. Because you’re going to have to beg me nicely for your place.”
Marcus flicked his wand at the door.
“I’ve locked it.” He hoped Draco wouldn’t try it: Marcus’s Quidditch skills
were way beyond his spell-casting. This was not the moment for Draco to
discover this. “Now, Miss Malfoy – on your knees.”
Draco swallowed. He had two choices: obey or disobey. If he disobeyed, he was
going to be out of the team, out of favour, and out of his position as top dog
of the second year. Which left one choice.
He knelt.
“Now ask me.”
“Please, Flint, don’t drop me.” Draco kept his eyes lowered as he spoke, not
wanting to see Marcus’s face.
“Come here.”
Draco went to stand, but Marcus’s voice forestalled him.
“On your knees. Crawl.”
Reluctantly, not to mention nervously, Draco crawled towards him. He could see
Flint’s boots, scruffy and worn at the corners. He remembered all too vividly
seeing Marcus giving one of the younger kids in Slytherin a kicking for
insulting him. The kid had been in the hospital ward for a week. When he
reached Marcus, Marcus reached out and cupped his chin, pulling his face
upwards so that they were looking at each other. There was a leer on Marcus’s
face.
“Now ask me again.”
“Please, don’t drop me.”
“Please - what?”
“Please, Sir,” said Draco, and stopped horrified the moment the words were out.
It had slipped out, years of training in politeness by his father betraying him
at the wrong moment.
But Flint looked cruelly amused.
“You’re good,” he said mock-admiringly. “I like my girls obedient. Now… give me
your wand.”
Without his wand, Draco would be utterly at Marcus’s mercy. There would be no
choice left, no chance to change his mind.
“Unless you want out?” Marcus was gently inquiring (as gentle as Marcus got).
“But you’d have to face the whole House, then. And… let’s just say there
wouldn’t be a lot of protection from the team for you.”
Draco knew what Marcus meant. Despite his fuck up on the Quidditch pitch, the
other Slytherins wouldn’t touch him if he had the might of the Quidditch team
behind him. If, however, he was dropped… Put it this way, losing out to Potter
was never going to make him popular. Meekly, he reached behind him and pulled
his wand out from his robes, handing it to Marcus. Marcus twisted it in his
fingers, admiring it.
“Mmm… Hawthorn. Nice and shiny. Your father always gets you the best, doesn’t
he? Now we’ll see if he’s given you an all-round training, shall we?”
“Yes, Flint.” Draco didn’t know what Marcus was talking about, but he seemed to
want an answer, and agreement was always good.
Flint laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. Draco watched, horrified as Marcus
shrugged his robes aside, showing a burgeoning erection.
“Very good, Miss Malfoy. Now… Let’s watch Lucius’s little girl show off her
skills, hey?”
Draco didn’t move, didn’t speak. Marcus didn’t mean… did he? He felt a hand at
the back of his head pushing him forward. Marcus did mean… His mouth opened –
it had to open wide to fit Marcus’s cock in. He was… God, he was large. There
had always been a (sub rosa) rumour that there was some troll heritage in
Flint. He tried not to struggle, choked, and coughed.
“Careful down there, sweetheart.” It was a threat, despite the ‘sweetheart’.
Draco tried again, bobbing his head back and forth. It felt… it felt weird, and
unpleasant and… he was so hairy down here, too. Please let me never look like
this, he thought. Marcus had a hand in his hair, and was using the pressure to
move Draco to his liking. From the grunts he was making, Draco must be doing
something right. (It tasted weird, too. Did he taste like this? Did girls
really do this?) Draco concentrated all his attention on trying not to gag.
Marcus’s cock was hitting the back of his throat and he was going to be sick,
he was going to cough, he wanted to run away, but with Marcus’s hand there…
“Done this for your father, have you?” Flint asked thickly. “And Snape…
everyone knows you’re the professor’s little favourite. Is this why, hmm? This
isn’t your first time, is it? You’re too practised. Do you suck him off before
class, yeah? Is that why your marks are so high?”
Draco couldn’t speak, his mouth being otherwise engaged. He could half-hear
what Marcus was saying, but he had to concentrate too hard on what he was doing
so that he didn’t choke to death. Marcus pulled him roughly backwards, letting
go so that Draco fell onto the floor at his feet.
“I said, do you do this for Professor Snape, Miss Malfoy?” Flint kicked out
with one shabby boot.
“N…No, I…”
“Do you do this for Snape?”
“No, honestly Flint, I…”
”Do you do this for Snape?” Marcus’s tone was threatening and Draco realised
he’d said the wrong thing.
“Y…Yes, Flint.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I…” Draco was struggling not to cry. He didn’t know the words, he didn’t
know what Marcus wanted.
“You’re Snape’s slut, yeah? You’re Snape’s little pure-blood whore?”
“Yes,” said Draco desperately.
“And does he fuck you, yeah? Like I’m going to do?”
“Yes.” Draco would agree to anything, did not know what he was agreeing to.
Marcus tore his robes from him, leaving him shivering on the floor, terrified.
He wanted this to stop, now, stop; but it was too late. There was no way out,
and Flint was.. he was bending over him and… He felt the cold wooden tip of a
wand poke at his arse, spreading his cheeks.
“I knew your wand would come in useful. You do this to yourself, don’t you,
when you’re alone in bed?”
“Yes.” Draco was past anything but agreeing to whatever Marcus said.
The wand slid in further, hard and painful. Marcus murmured the one spell he
could reliably perform, and Draco’s hole was sticky with lubricant. Flint slid
the wand back and forth a few times experimentally, each time shoving it a bit
further into Draco. Draco was whimpering, and Marcus took him by the hair
again.
“One sound, Miss Malfoy, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, got
it?”
“Y..Yes, Flint.”
The tears had come now, and Draco bowed his head to the floor so that Marcus
could not see them. He felt a sudden movement as the wand was removed, followed
by a burning pain so strong that he bit his arm to bleeding to stop himself
from moaning. Marcus had pushed inside him; was tearing him in two. Draco
wanted to scream “STOP!” but words wouldn’t come. He didn’t dare take his arm
from his mouth, fearing what Flint might do if he made a noise.
Marcus was moving back and forth, rocking behind him. Draco’s soundless sobs
racked his body, as his tears mixed with the blood on his arm. It hurt, it
hurt, it hurt, it Please, Flint, don’t, but he couldn’t say the words; and
Marcus was unrelenting, pounding into him, forcing Draco forward with every
motion. Finally the short grunts became one long noise, and Draco felt Marcus
pulse inside him, filling him with his come.
Flint pulled out, and threw Draco’s wand and robes at him. The leer on his face
was all the more pronounced.
“Okay, Miss Malfoy. You’re back on the team.”
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